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now.”
All this exercise had turned him into a whiny baby. He was a grown man, and this was his career. And even though every stinking bone in his body hurt, he was a professional. He took a deep breath and opened the door, walking in like he owned the place.
His nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer and tacos, or some other greasy snack food. Cody almost turned around to check if he walked into a bar by mistake, but some guy shouted at him before he could leave.
“You the reporter?”
“Yeah,” Cody answered quickly.
“Your photographer is taking a leak,” the guy said.
“Can we lock him in the bathroom?”
The guy snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. It almost knocked him over.
“You okay?” the guy asked.
“No, way too much exercise,” Cody said.
The guy chuckled. “I’m Brady. I’m supposed to make sure you change into proper curling attire.”
Brady was a nice-looking guy and very friendly. He led him back into the locker room and pointed out some black pants laid out across a wooden bench. There was a longsleeve shirt and a jacket with his name embroidered on the front, along with a pair of black mittens.
“I actually get to wear gloves and a jacket?” Cody asked. He fondled the sleeve of the jacket and grinned.
“Yeah, but you can take them off if you get too warm,” Brady said.
“Doubtful,” Cody said. “But thanks for the normal clothes. I was getting tired of jamming everything into spandex.”
“What have you been doing?” Brady asked.
“Being tortured,” Cody said.
Cody sat down on the bench and noticed a pair of black shoes that looked like he could wear them on the golf course. Maybe they had spikes on the bottom that would grip the ice and help him to stay on his feet. His body parts needed to stay free and clear of ice.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” Brady said, and he walked out of the locker room.
The pants were stretchy and tight, but not confining. His cock rejoiced. The shirt was warm, and the jacket was nice and roomy. The shoes were strange. The left shoe had some sort of old man overshoe protector thing that covered the sole. It was weird, but all these winter sports seemed to have some odd thing going on. Cody shook his head and finished dressing.
Brady was sitting at a large round table with a few other guys, drinking a beer. Derek was asking a million questions and snapping pictures.
Cody flipped Derek the finger when he pointed the camera at him. The guy had enough goofy pictures of him.
“Hey, you look like you’re ready to hit the ice,” Brady said.
“Please don’t say hit,” Cody said. “I’ve been on my ass enough.”
The guys all chuckled and did some quick introductions. They told Cody the team competing in the playdowns for the Olympics would be at the club in about fifteen minutes.
“I’ll try to give you an overview of some of the rules and how we score and shit before we drag you out on the ice,” Brady said.
The game had a lot of rules and some fucked-up scoreboard that confused the hell out of Cody. It looked like a baseball scoreboard, but it didn’t work the same way. Oh well, he didn’t need to know the score.
“I’ll show you the ice,” Brady said.
Cody thought about digging his heels in and refusing to leave the comfort of the warm room, but he didn’t want to look like a chicken in front of Derek.
Brady took him upstairs, telling him it was best to watch a game from overhead. The sheets of ice sort of looked like hockey ice, but it was divided into four skinny lanes, with a huge bull’s eye target embedded in the ice at each end of the separate sheets. Behind the targets were two strange black hole things. Brady called them the hack, telling him that’s where you slid out with the rock. Whatever the hell that meant.
“You ready to give it a try?”
Cody sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You’ll be fine,” Brady said and led him back downstairs where they could hear more